


demons & desires & dark sides

by findyourstars



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bonding in mutually awful situations, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Perc'ahlia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-01-05 02:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12181092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findyourstars/pseuds/findyourstars
Summary: Percy does something dumb and ends up in the psych hospital for a week. A girl named Vex'ahlia is also there.An exploration of the reality that they're both a little messed up, but sometimes just you need someone to laugh with about the cruelness and absurdity of the universe.Modern AU, dual timeline. Rated M for subject matter.





	1. run for cover

**Author's Note:**

> One year ago this week I ended up being involuntarily committed to the psych hospital for a week. It was a lot! I was in the middle of my fall semester, had a part time job, had a cat, and had been on bipolar meds for almost six months. 
> 
> I met some cool people there, I got my meds adjusted, and between that and the ensuing six weeks of outpatient treatment I learned a lot about how not to end up back in the hospital again. This month has been really hard for me -- I've been thinking a lot about that weird fever-dream of a week, and without having many people in my life to vent to about it, I'm turning to my favorite medium -- torturing fictional characters ;)
> 
> I see a lot of myself in many of the members of Vox Machina, but most of all in Percy. So I'm sticking him in my situation from last year, and we're going to see how it turns out.
> 
> This is not going to be a light-hearted fluff fic, but it's also not going to be gory or aggressively highlighting the deep depths of mental illness or whatever. Because the hospital was neither. 
> 
> I will include warnings at the beginning of each chapter as needed, but I will obviously not be offended if you decide this fic is not for you. I'm writing it as a coping and processing mechanism, as well as to potentially yell SAME HAT at people who have gone through the same thing.
> 
> Fic title from "Never Look Away" by Vienna Teng
> 
> \--
> 
> Ch 1 includes warnings for discussion of suicide, involuntary hospitalization.

It’s a Monday when Percy takes the pills.

There’s no reason. Well, there’s no reason that he can articulate to anyone -- and if there’s one thing that Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III can do well, it’s articulate. 

He knows he’ll have to tell Keyleth, so he tries to think it through as he’s waiting in the emergency room on Tuesday evening, fingers clenching and unclenching against the bite of the plastic hospital bracelet on his wrist.

It had been hour 34 without sleep when he passed the bottle of Tylenol on his counter. Like a whisper in the dark, a very calm and very clear thought took shape in the back of his mind.

_Take the pills._

Everything around him felt like it was moving half-speed, bogged down in some sort of quantum mud, and the only way he could keep from sinking into the pit himself was to keep moving. Keep running. Do more, read more, build _more_.

_You’re invulnerable. Prove it._

It felt like a dare, like his oldest brother swinging above him on the jungle gym and kicking him with sand-crusted tennis shoes, egging him on and telling him to _climb higher, Percival, or everyone will think you’re a loser._

His thoughts seemed to occupy a separate plane from his physical form, and while his mind hovered, unsure, his fingers untwisted the lid and counted out capsules.

It’s not until the next day - Tuesday, his day off of work - that his mind begins to slow to normal and the gravity of his deed begins to sink in. He doesn’t feel ill yet, but the symptoms of liver failure don’t show up until it’s too late, says WebMD and the books he skims in the library.

Percival doesn’t want to die.

The nurses are hilariously rude to him as he huddles under the thin hospital blankets.

“If you wanted to die, taking Tylenol is an awful way to go,” one of them snips as she aggressively wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm. “Your stomach destroys itself from the inside out. Very painful.”

“I don’t know why a smart kid like him even wants to die,” the other remarks as she makes notes on his chart. Percy’s not sure that she even remembers that he’s in the room, not a foot from her, until she turns her sharp glance back to him and asks how many pills it was that he took anyways.

They take his blood and leave him, and in the interim between nurses Percy finds that he cannot stop shaking.

The psychiatrist or psychologist or whoever the fuck is on staff is no kinder when he comes by an hour and a half later, and he looks skeptically at Percy over the top of his bifocals while he tries to explain that he didn’t _want_ to die, it was just a momentary impulse that caught him off guard.

“So you’re diagnosed bipolar?” The doctor asks, not even looking at the chart in his hand. “Are you on medication for it?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“There’s almost no lithium in your blood.”

“Well yes, that’s because--”

“If you’re not going to take your meds, what’s the point?” The doctor folds his glasses and slides them onto the collar of his lab coat. “We’re going to send you to Willowbrook for a professional evaluation.”

Dropping the name of the nearby psych hospital is enough to snap Percy from his stunned trance, and he sits quickly up in bed. There are sticky spots on his chest from the EEG pads and the hospital gown is far too thin and papery, and he feels incredibly small and vulnerable. “If my acetaminophen levels are okay, can’t I just leave?”

“That’s not my call to make, that’s Willowbrook’s.” The doctor presses his lips together. “An ambulance will be here within the hour.”

“An -- an ambulance? Willowbrook is no more than half a mile from here, can’t I just--”

“Have a good night, Mr. de Rolo,” the doctor says, steamrolling over him for a final time before turning on his heel and leaving. Percy can hear someone shouting from the other end of the emergency room, and he half expects to hear someone yell “CODE BLUE! PATIENT CRASHING!” or maybe burst into song, because goddammit if the musical episode of Scrubs wasn’t the last thing he watched before ending up here.

He should text Keyleth.

 **PFMKR3:** Hi, Keyleth.  
**PFMKR3:** I may need you to look after Lola for a few days.  
**Kiki:** Ooooh where are you going??? You know I got you boo.  
**PFMKR3:** May not end up going anywhere, I just wanted to make sure I had backup if necessary. You still have my spare key, yes?  
**Kiki:** Yessir!!!

He sighs and sets his phone to the side, then digs the heels of his palms into his eyes as he tries to fight the sudden, irrepressible urge to cry. 

There is one nurse who has been kind to him throughout this entire hellish evening: a tiny, bright-eyed woman with tousled blonde hair. She’s asked about his job and his cat and has been very, very gentle. She’s also the first person he’s seen this evening who hasn’t made him feel either like a rebellious teenager or a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe. He’s very happy to see her when she pokes her head in about half an hour after the doctor has taken his leave, a pen sticking out her messy bun.

“Everything okay in here?” She asks cheerily.

“Do you know what they’re going to do with me?” Percy’s voice breaks, and her face softens. She steps into the room and half-closes the door behind her.

“At Willowbrook?” He nods. She quirks the corner of her mouth up in thought. “I think they just ask you some questions. Kind of like a job interview, but less stressful.”

She’s trying to joke with him, but Percy’s soul feels like it’s full of lead. “Do I have to stay there?”

“I’m not sure. It’s up to the doctors on call.” She checks the numbers on his monitor and makes a note on her chart, then fixes her clear eyes on him. She has a small cross around her neck, which normally would set Percy on edge, but today it just feels reassuring.

“I’m scared,” he manages, but his voice is so soft he’s not sure if she can hear him. She sets a tiny, warm hand on his shoulder for a brief moment before beginning to detach his blood pressure cuff and the port stuck into his left cephalic vein. 

“You’ll be okay. Just hang in there.”

He never gets her name, but it’s her words that he clings to as the ambulance techs arrive nearly an hour later and strap him to a gurney.

It’s warm for late September, and the stars overhead are shrouded by light pollution, but Percy can’t keep from looking up anyways.

_Just hang in there._


	2. all we are is skin and bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you feel that you have to live for?”
> 
> The question was calm, asked in the same level tone as all her others, but it made him pause. Of course he had things to live for. Didn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, welcome back! Apologies for the wait between chapters -- I had put this story on the shelf, but then I got a sudden burst of inspiration and decided to pick it back up again.
> 
> From here on out, the story will be split into dual timelines: during the hospital, and post-hospital. I think it'll be pretty clear which is which!
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: discussion of suicide/suicidal ideations, forced institutionalization, brief mentions of self-harm and disordered eating.

_This has to be a mistake._

It was always his first thought when he awoke on mornings like this, blurry vision trained to the ceiling as the woman tangled in the blankets beside him slept on.

He turned his face to her. Her long, dark hair was in a loose approximation of the braid she’d worn to bed (before his fingers had twined around the strands and his nails had dug into her scalp as she did that _thing_ with her gods-damned tongue) and her lips were parted slightly in sleep. She was beautiful and fierce, like a muse pulled straight from the pages of Greek mythology. Calliope, perhaps, or Melpomene if he was feeling particularly melodramatic. But no, he realized after another few seconds of watching her breathe -- Vex’ahlia was Polyhymnia, the muse of hymns, of praise. 

Percy was not a religious man, but here in his apartment with gentle rays of sun gilding her hair and an unsettling of feeling of peace in his heart, he would catch flashes of what he would imagine other people saw in the gods.

The happiness that took root in his soul whenever he looked at her was so different and perfect that it set him on edge. There had to be another shoe waiting to drop. Everything _had_ to be waiting to dissolve into flames and misery.

Vex stirred then, as if sensing his gaze upon her. “Take a picture, darling,” she sighed, eyes still closed, sleep muddling her words. “It’ll last longer.”

A low chuckle rumbled through Percy’s chest, and he leaned over to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Good morning.”

“Mmmmorning.” A jaw-cracking yawn, then fluttering lashes and a flash of hazel as she began to fully rouse. “D’you have to go to group?”

Percy’s serenity began to trickle away. “I suppose.” He fell back against the pillows and reached for his glasses. “I wish you would come to the morning sessions with me.” The request bordered on a whine, which made him feel simultaneously guilty and pitiful. 

Vex slowly made her way to the edge of the bed and paused, her bare back to him as she fiddled with what he assumed was her phone. Even in the soft light of morning the curve of her spine was harsh. Had she been eating full meals since they’d been together? “You know I’ve missed too much work already.”

“Have they been okay with it?”

A long pause. Percy adjusted his glasses and frowned. Vex finally sighed. “I’ve been late the last three days because if I drive by the hospital I have a panic attack.”

There was that echoing resonation within Percy, that feeling that had drawn him to Vex’ahlia in the very beginning, like the low tones of a bell vibrating within his bones. On impulse, he moved closer and touched her shoulder with a careful hand, his palm resting on the feather tattooed over her right scapula. She flinched at first, but reached across her chest to brush his right hand with her left.

“I still can’t breathe when I go to group,” Percy admitted, his voice hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “I walk past that door, and I feel like they’re going to say I’m crazy and drag me back in again.”

Vex nodded slowly, affirming. “Me too.” 

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing together in the warming sun, before Vex removed her hand and got up to dress.

\--

Willowbrook was silent at two in the morning. They had taken Percy’s belongings upon his entrance for a security screen, and he paced the small room he had been led to for a few minutes before giving up and settling into one of the two chairs flanking a round table no larger than a school desk. 

He just wanted to get out of here, back to Lola and his apartment and his _bed_. The exhaustion building over the last few days had settled into his bones, and every movement felt slow and weighted down.

 _Last time I check myself into the emergency room_ , he thought bitterly, eyes roving restlessly across the ceiling. It was composed of popcorn tiles, interrupted every few feet by harsh fluorescents. Percy had counted all of the ceiling tiles and was moving on to the beige linoleum when the door opened.

The woman looked to be in her mid-forties, with a dark bun and tired eyes, but her smile was kind. She settled herself across from Percy, and he tucked his legs up into the chair, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller.

“Hi, Percy,” she greeted him. Her voice was worn, and Percy was again reminded that it was two in the morning. “I’m Caroline. Would you like to tell me about what brought you here?”

For what felt like the tenth time that night, Percy walked her through it. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” he insisted, and anger sparked deep in his gut when her expression remained impassive. “I _wasn’t_.”

“What were you trying to do, then?”

“I don’t know. It was a dumb impulse, and I gave into it.” He shrugged. “But I don’t want to die.”

“What do you feel that you have to live for?”

The question was calm, asked in the same level tone as all her others, but it made him pause. Of course he had things to live for. Didn’t he? He didn’t want to abandon his cat to the care of someone else, and he liked the research he was assisting with at the local university.

But after he relayed those two things to Caroline, he found himself at a loss. What else did he have to live for?

Maddeningly, Caroline gave him a small, sad smile. It felt like pity. “Have you ever done something like this before?”

Now wasn’t that a question. Percy shifted his weight and dropped his gaze to the table. “A year and a half ago I tried to kill myself. But that was different.”

Her pen scratched against the clipboard that she had seemingly produced from nowhere, and Percy glanced up to see the top of some kind of form. Caroline continued to talk him through various points of his life history -- Did he have family? Was he close to his sister? What medications was he on? Had he been in therapy before? Did he drink or use drugs? -- and after fifteen or so minutes, Percy felt panic beginning to rise in his throat again.

“Do you know how long I’ll be here for?” He interrupted, and Caroline stopped in her note-taking.

“It depends on what your doctor says,” she said, her tone a very deliberate kind of gentle. A low rushing began to build in his ears. “At least three days.”

“Three days?” The voice did not sound like his. “I can’t just go home?”

“The doctor in the emergency room...he deemed you a danger to yourself.”

“But I -- I have a cat -- no one knows where I am -- ” he managed to choke out.

Caroline’s voice was quiet against the white noise now roaring in his ears. “You can use the phone first thing in the morning, after group.”

She must have said some other things after that, and she gave him a plastic folder filled with handouts, but Percy processed none of it. He followed her and a nurse back through silent halls and several sets of doors locked with key cards and was eventually deposited in an empty room with folded sheets on the bed. A male nurse had him strip down so he could take note of any scars already present on his body (“Are you a cutter?” the older man asked, his voice an odd blend of sad and accusatory, and Percy gave a shivering nod, too numb to be surprised that _this_ man was surprised. He did work at a loony bin, after all.), and then, at last, he was alone.

Alone.

He had no clothes but the jeans and t-shirt he had arrived to the ER in. His chest was sticky from the pads of the EEG, and his hands were trembling.

Percy made the twin bed and brushed his teeth with the provided cosmetics like he was sleepwalking. It wasn’t until he curled under the thin sheets and finally ceased motion that the enormity of his situation hit him.

_I can’t leave. They've locked me up against my will._

_Lola. Keyleth has to feed Lola._

_Oh god, Cass is going to kill me._

With thoughts of his sister, his cat, and his best friend tangling in his adrenaline-weary mind, Percy squeezed his eyes shut and gave in to quiet, desperate tears.


End file.
